She stands

… before the mirror looking for the queen she's suppose to be when she grows up. All she sees is a pretty girl - not the prettiest (too fat, and short), but pretty enough - a pretty girl no one believes in. She traces her face with one nail-bitten finger, watching herself in the cool, clean glass of the bright, new mirror. Somehow, the old one broke…

Ugly - bleached dead beneath the fluorescent lights, she is as fragile as the brittle straw-dry hair she wraps around her thin well-chewed fingers. Even her normally bright, blue eyes are washed out and empty like dried forget-me-nots - the planes beneath dark hollows of plum and umber. She's left fingerprints on the slick surface - her brows furls she thinks the old mirror broke in such a way. She thinks there was an explosion of color - she thinks… The cool porcelain beneath her right hand becomes the cool metal of something gray and sharp.

Against her feverish palm it's cool and light. A bright line leaving a trail of red and distantly felt pain over the length of her arm. Dispassionately she watches the blood trickle down the drain as softly as melted snowfall. How strangely the red stands out against her skin, against the white porcelain of the sink. So bright as though it were all that mattered - has ever mattered about her.

Perhaps it is - somehow even in the own life she stands in the background; a washed out wraith no one ever listens to. 'She's such a loser.' Her reflection smiles teeth red with blood and she thinks - "I'm a real person too." 'You aren't you're the moon princess who shall be Neo-Queen Serenity.' Mirror girl laughs eyes as hard and cold as space, her throat hurts from laughing. It's all such a bad fairy tale.

Mirror girl stares at her, lips nearly against the glass a thin nimbus of condensation dimming it when she speaks - "coward". The bright red handprint form the other side of the mirror as the long, jagged cut gushes blood onto the chilled surface raising steam, and she already knows. She knows she's a coward unable to wield the scissors as she should to make it stop - the delusions. A fucking coward, the stupid cow-eyed bitch with the monochrome face freckled with blood. Mirror girl smiles as she watches her fingers fiddle listlessly with the slick scissors. "Do it."

The scissors lie on the cool tile floor amid the shards of glass. The light winks off them so that if the light went out now she could stand in the stars. Her arm still trembles from the force with which she slammed her fist into the mirror. The shards crunch under her bare feet drips of blood spotting the white sink, the cool tile - trailing down her thin white arms. "Hate you." The lights above her buzz with the scream of flies.